Fall Harvest Moon
A cool 32 degrees this morning. Some snow overnight, wintry mix. Anything to put moisture into these forests. Gray sky. Headed toward Samain. Harvest season slowing, the fallow time with bare deciduous trees is on its way. It is now, said Rudolf Steiner, that is the springtime of the soul.
Annie’s here. Glad she could come, help with her big sis. She got in yesterday morning.
Kate has been through so much since a week ago yesterday. The many tests, procedures, lines snaking in and out of her bed, her body. So much. And though the crisis seems to be over, a long recovery period will follow. The big hope we both have is that all this may have finally knocked back her persistent nausea. She needs to eat and eat routinely, not just when her stomach will allow it. As my great-aunt Mary used to say, “We need to put some meat on those bones.”
I’ll say a word again for living in the moment. It has been so helpful to me, to my own spiritual health, to stay with the worries of this day, knowing that tomorrow will bring worries of its own. That way, each day matters for its own reasons, its own occurrences, not clouded by fears or even hopes. As the paragraph above suggests, I’m allowing a little hopefulness to creep in, but I am not fooled. Whatever hope I have for tomorrow will only exist if we take action today.
And, a word for the dogs. Yes, they’ve called me home from the hospital, just as Kate has called me back to the hospital from home. Seems like a burden, having to take all four lives into account. But, no. The very act of caring for the dogs is immediate, in the moment. Their appreciation is, too. The house, with Kate’s absence, could have a hollow resonance, but it doesn’t, not with Gertie eyeballing the macaroni and cheese in the kitchen, Rigel jumping eagerly onto her couch after a long day outside, and Kep’s tail waving like a happy flag when I go to bed. Taking other lives into account is what makes us human and I’m blessed to have each of these lives nearby.
Today: grocery store, yet more gas, business meeting stuff. Tomorrow: move the grandkid’s tv into our bedroom, consider some other logistics for Kate’s homecoming.
Your writing is full of fire and primordial juice, Flowing out and filling in the cracks of questions I want to ask, you share from the ground up. I am sending you a piece of my heart.